She worked best alone, and Big Brother saw that. Others just slowed her down. Her dark brown eyes seemed vacant as she just continued to march, eyes forward. She didn't need to see. She didn't need to think. Why would she when she could taste? And more importantly, smell?
They, the citizens around her, cowered as she passed them by. She could taste the aprihensive sweat on their flesh, the one that fear showered them with. Usually when this weapon was out in the open, someone was 'thinking the other way', and needed to be educated. Her's was a messy, yet effective class.
The Thought Police often thought to themselves how misleading her form was. Slight and willowy, yet more then humbley endowed, barely toned, but her mutancy made up for it. Her work uniform tight and protective, almost provocitave. One of them even mentioned in passing that she was an angel, sent to give them something to look at before the criminal was reaped.
A child ran out from a nearby alley, a broken stick in a chubby fist. The child squealed happily, skidding to a stop before the soldire in a way that kicked up dust and small pebbles. The little stones clunked uselessly against the soldier's shins, and she turned her eyes, emotionlessly, towards the child.
"I am Your HERO!" Screamed the child, waving the stick like a flag. "BIG BROTHER IS ME! I AM BIG BROTHER! BOW!! BOW!!!" The child's voice grew in volume, but he paused to inhale, readying himself for a loud, final chorus of "I am your salvation."
With the metallic sound 'snikt!' and a gugled 'hurk!', the child was in halves. He could have caused on uprising. That would not bold well. Best sever the head from the body while it was still fetal, no one would miss it then.
The Soldier Marched.